Bell Tower
by Cosmokitt
Summary: Stumbling across a woman hanging in a bell tower, the Phantom is returned to a world he never wished to revisit with Moreen at his side. Mystery, revenge, and blood lust are in store for our dear Phantom and his new companion.
1. Chapter 1

The night was misty and quiet as a shadowed figure made its way across the rooftops of Paris, staying out of sight of the lamps in the street below, keeping watch for any patrons strolling the streets at night. The shadow took the form of a man, but it was hardly a man. Only the shell of one, truly. He glanced back, whispy tendrils of mist rose from beneath the cloak with each breath the shadow took a he surveyed the city at his back. He considered whether or not he was still being followed. He whipped his head back around and pressed on, his target rising through the darkness before him. The broken and shattered remnants of Notre Dame. The Catholic Church had been destroyed during the French Revolution, and hardly any attention had been brought to the tattered building since. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that this church had ever existed. All except the shadow, who moved swiftly toward it, afraid he was still prey to his persistent quarry. The moon above drowned out the light of any other stars in the sky, making it a solitary figure hanging above the shadow. He knew he needed to get out of the street before the light illuminated above him would reveal his position to any unwanted eyes. He dropped down into the street, his damp boots providing a muffled landing on the cobblestone. He hurried forward, glancing up at the disfigured religious statues ruined by the hand of war. He threw his shoulder into the heavy wooden door and heaved it open, stepping inside cautiously after glancing around nervously. His gloved hand left the door and he slipped into the church.

Stepping into the stream of moonlight directed by the broken window at the far end of the church, Erik Destler pulled his cloak down from around his face, exposing it to the judgmental eyes of the statues. And maybe even god himself. Erik glanced around, taking stock of the broken pews aligned haphazardly across the floor. He stepped up onto the dais, running a hand over the dusty bible that stood on a stand in front of the cross hung just beneath the window. Pillars, broken and whole, held the church upright it seemed.

From one broken home to the next.

Erik made his way over to the organ standing just off to the left of the holy dais, trailing his fingers over the rows of keys. Cobwebs hung like ghastly veils across the brass pipes, dust coated heavily over the smooth ivory keys. Erik had no idea if the organ still operated properly, and he didn't care to find out in case it made some ungodly noise that brought everyone in Paris down on his head. He sighed and let his hand fall away from the instrument glancing around and wondering if the church had any sort of accommodations for him. He knew of its history and knew he would hardly be disturbed here, but he wanted to be sure. Flinging the side of his black cloak over one arm, Erik climbed the iron, spiral staircase leading up into the north tower of the church, where the largest bell resided. Each step was accompanied by a small 'clink' as he climbed upward. He did his best to quiet his steps, but with no such luck.

Erik trailed his fingers over the molded surface of the brass bell, glancing up to where the pulleys were attached to the bell, prepared to ring the massive bell. It was as though the bell had no knowledge of what had happened here. Something caught his eye and he moved around the bell, his heart stopping. Something- someone -hung from the rafters. Using the collapsed beams and hanging ropes, Erik climbed up to where the person hung, a rope tied around her body skillfully. Erik balanced on the rafters, untying the woman and lowering her to the ground carefully before releasing the rope, which fell in a pile next to the unconscious woman's body. Erik made his way back down, not taking his eyes from the woman. She was a colored woman with coarse black hair and a petite body tied tightly with rope. He loosened it from around her before sliding it from around her body. A note slipped from between the coils of rope, and, his curiosity getting the better of him, he opened it carefully.

_This is a warning, Moreen. _

Erik looked down at the woman, pressing two fingers to her neck, detecting a pulse. Once she had been freed from her bonds, her breathing became less labored, her chest moving up and down slowly. Carefully, Erik placed his hand on her head, his coming away smeared with blood. He thumbed back her eyelids, all thought completely lost to him. All he saw was the white of her eyes. What had happened to her? He wondered who had had a worse day. She was dressed simply, in a brown wool gown and apron. He lifted her left hand, his eyes falling on the ring on her finger. Had her husband done this? Who would do this? For once that night he didn't think about Christine.


	2. Chapter 2

Consciousness returned slowly, the woman receding from the darkness. How had she gotten there? Her eyes, or at least what she had thought were her eyes, something flickering before her face. Light, maybe?

"Hello?" Through a cloud of smoke obscuring her senses, a small sound reached her. She blinked several times and pain hit her hard, and a cry of pain could be heard. A face materialized through the haze.

"Moreen? Is that your name?"

What was her name? Did she even know who she was? The man's face came into focus, revealing a disfigured man with whispy blonde hair and striking blue eyes.

She tried desperately to form words, but she couldn't seem to remember how. Her tongue finally managed to mangle a few words that were almost legible.

"Who...are...where...am..." Her head pounded as she tried to form words.

"Do you know what happened to you?" He asked, his face harsh, but tender.

"I... Don't know." She stuttered. "Who are you? Who am I?"

She propped herself up on her elbows, looking down at her arms. She had dark skin and small, slender fingers. A silver ring glittered on her left hand and she ran her thumb over its surface.

"You mean... You can't remember what happened to you?" He asked, his face softening slightly. She shook her head, feeling thick locks of hair brushing her face. She felt at her head, feeling the coarse hair falling from her head. Her head was wet with blood.

"What happened?" Her voice quavered with emotion.

"I don't know, I found you, hanging from the rafters."

"Where am I?" She asked in a quiet voice.

"You're in a church, Notre Dame in Paris, France."

She mouthed Paris and looked up at him, hoping to find some form of remembrance would return to her. Nothing. It infuriated her.

"What did you call me?"

"Moreen, I found this with you," he handed her a piece of paper. Her eyes scanned the words on the paper, her brows furrowing. Her large black eyes looked up at the man.

"Is that my name?" She asked. "I don't know what's going on."

"Nor do I." He shook his head. "I should get you to a doctor and I'll... You can't tell anyone about me, I need to-"

"You're leaving," she reached out and gripped his arm instinctively. "Please don't leave me. Please. What is your name, who are you?"

He hesitated, glancing down at her arms. Fear consumed her as she thought of going out into the world without any knowledge about herself or her life before now. It was terrifying. Her terror translated to her eyes as she gazed up at him, holding his arm in a vice.

"I'm sorry, but you can't stay with me." He said quietly. "I'll get you some help, but you have to swear you will tell no one of me." He muttered.

"But-"

"Swear it!" He snapped, taking her aback. She opened her mouth to protest, but tears flooded her eyes as she looked away from his face.

"I swear."


	3. Chapter 3

Erik draped his black cloak over the woman's shoulders, letting out a breath as he stared at her sleeping face. She gripped the black fabric of the cloak and pulled it around herself, shivering heavily. She was curled up, asleep, on the space of ground under the large bell. Moonlight reflected off her face, illuminating her small body. He was not so much a monster he would have left that woman hanging from the rafters, but he wished he had not gotten involved. He was on the run for christ's sake. He couldn't take risks like this. Someone had to help her though... God, he was going soft.

She shivered again and he adjusted the cloak so it was more secure around her body. See? Soft. Maybe it would be easier for him to just leave her here. What incentive did he have to make sure this woman was safe? He did feel guilty, however. He had strung people up before. Perhaps, deep down, he thought he could redeem himself by helping her. All he had thought about was his own well-being. His own selfish acts of love. Up until he had done that one unselfish act of letting Christine go... He had been scum. He was not even a man. He deserved to rot. He deserved death. But fear still held him anchored to life, to freedom. He was only human after all.

Only human.

He would stay with her. Dammit, he would at least see this thing through. If he could be human for just a moment, now would be the time. He stood and laid a hand on the surface of the bell that hung directly above them, and he couldn't stop wondering, who had done this?


	4. Chapter 4

Sun darkened hands flipped through the fragments of paper connected to the case in the file. Broken glass and a porcelain was all that was left of the Phantom, leaving the case cold in his tracks. The man let out a breath and flipped the folder shut, once he had finished the required paperwork, representing his seeming incompetence. He had made a choice, and he knew that it would ride on his shoulders, weighing him down for the rest of his life.

"Monsieur?"

Nadir Khan looked up as a French officer entered his office.

"Yes?" Nadir murmured.

"I have a file for review." He said.

"Does it have any connection to the Opera Ghost case?" He asked wearily.

"No. Our chief doesn't know what to make of it, and he wanted you to take over." He heft the file in his hands before handing it over to the Daroga. He let out a breath and flipped it open, his eyes scanning the pages. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to comprehend the file.

"Good lord," he murmured, turning a drawing of a young woman.

"Will you take over the investigation?" The officer asked.

"Of course."

On the surface, the case seemed routine, but underneath stirred something far more strange. Murder was never simple. The chief of the French police seemed to be mocking him by giving him this file containing this seemingly simple case. What he didn't know that this was so much more than what it appeared. He was the fool for not realizing it. Maybe he could use this case to regain his reputation and his expertise could be put to better use.

No case this complicated has only one suspect... There should have been a variety of suspects unless... They were being protected. By the police or some higher power.

The Daroga smiled in satisfaction as he closed the file.


	5. Chapter 5

Moreen pressed a hand to her head as she followed the man through the streets of Paris, wrapped in a large cloak that flowed over her in waves. She wrapped it around her small body, shivering as she trailed behind the man.

"Where are you taking me?" She asked quietly.

"To... To the police. Maybe they can help you find out why you were hanging in a bell tower." He murmured, pulling his own cloak over his face.

She stopped dead in the street, an unexplainable terror gripping her insides.

"No! We can't go there." She said the last few words in a hoarse whisper as her voice cracked. She stopped dead.

He turned to her, his blue eyes fiery.

"Why?" He demanded in low tones.

She bit her lip, hesitating. "I don't know." She admitted. "But I have this feeling in my gut that I can't go to the police. Please," she whimpered.

"I can't help you." He said slowly. "There is no way in hell I would be able to."

She opened her mouth to retaliate but he had already turned away, striding across the street.

"Wait!" She called, hurrying after him. She fell in stride with him and pulled her cloak tighter around her. She couldn't stop shivering. It was as if she was near feverish. She didn't understand it.

"Monsieur." She murmured.

"What?" He demanded, turning back to her. She remained silent.

"I'm sorry." He said. "What do you need?"

She shook her head and they continued on their way. They stood in front of the police station and Erik pushed her forward.

"Go on." He said.

"I can't please, you have to listen," she turned only to discover he had gone.


	6. Chapter 6

"Monsieur Daroga," A French officer opened his door.

"What is it, Delude?" He murmured, looking up at the man.

"A woman has entered the station, one from your file." He said. This had been the man who had originally brought the file to him, so obviously he would know his suspect but surly she wouldn't have just walked in here.

"Alright then," he stood, picking up the file from his desk and flipping through it he pulled out the drawing of the woman.

He went out into the waiting room but saw no one there.

"Delude?"

The officer came up behind him, stopping up short.

"Where the hell did she go?"

()

Moreen pressed a hand to her nose as it began gushing blood. She cursed and stopped in the middle of the street, holding her cloak to her nose. Dark was falling, and she needed someway of locating that man. He was all she had. He was the only one she knew she could trust. She didn't know how but she did. This amnesia was infuriating. She pulled off into the alley and pinched her nose, trying to stop the bleeding.

Growls filled the air around her as something climbed out of the boxes lining the brick walls of the alley. Three large dogs advanced on her and she let her hands fall away from her face in shock. She backed away from them as they stalked toward her, teeth bare, their jowls quivering with foaming saliva. They were thin and starved, but with broad, strong shoulders. She clambered into a pile of boxes and tried frantically to climb on top of them. They collapsed under her feet and she tumbled to the ground, crying out. One of the dogs leapt for her, snapping at her ankle before pulling back to circle her with the others, successfully cornering her. She screamed and tried to climb up the wall.

A rope dropped down the wall and she looked up, gripping it tightly in her bloody hands. She scrambled up the wall, clutching the rope as one dog tore her dress with its teeth. She screamed again and the rope jerked upward as the person on the end of it hoisted it. She climbed onto the edge of the building, trying desperately to pull air into her lungs. The dogs barked and snapped below.

"Are you alright? Did they bite you?" A familiar voice said, grabbing her arm and helping Moreen to her feet.

"I'm alright," she gasped. The disfigured man took her face in his hands.

"You're soaked in blood."

"Nosebleed." She murmured, scrubbing the blood from her face.

"Why did you leave the station?" He groaned.

"I couldn't trust them. I stayed for a few minutes but I knew I had to leave." She whimpered, still trying to scrape the blood off her skin. "Thank you." She murmured, picking up the rope. "Who needs this much rope?" She murmured.

"I have my reasons." The man snapped, coiling it around his arm and stowing it under his cloak. "You're welcome. I could hardly let you die at the paws of a few mangy dogs." He shrugged. She nodded, peering down into the alley. She had so many questions. All of which were under the who, what, when, where, and why categories.


	7. Chapter 7

What was Erik going to do with this woman? The police had probably been her best option, and yet here she was: standing before him. He peered at her through the darkness, wondering what he should do. His first order of business: leave France undetected. He wasn't going to waste time trying to solve a mystery about this woman's life and risk getting caught. If he was seen waltzing around France with a woman who had gone missing it would draw too much attention to himself. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, considering her. What could he do since she seemed to have imprinted on him like some ducking? He was no protector. If there was any woman he would have... She was long gone. Married by now, most likely. Since he had found Moreen (if that was really her name) hanging in that bell tower thoughts of Christine became less frequent. Not because he was falling in love with Moreen at any rate, but because her situation consumed his thoughts. It was almost a relief, not thinking about Christine constantly. A relief he didn't deserve. But yet the relief existed. Part of him wanted to help Moreen... He just didn't know how. He didn't have the resources or even the ability. When he wore his mask he stood out like a sore thumb. When he didn't wear his mask... Well he stuck out like a very sore thumb. That had been smashed in a door a couple of times.

"Moreen, I can't-"

"Please don't leave me again." She said, her dark eyes wide.

"Moreen... I have to leave France. I can't stay here. I'm not wanted." Actually he was probably the most wanted man in the country.

"Because of your face?" She asked quietly. He stared at her for a few moments before responding slowly.

"Yes, I guess you can say that. It doesn't scare you?"

She shook her head as she tried to relieve her face of the caked blood that had congregated there.

"Listen, I can't stay here which means I won't be able to find your family. I won't be conducting any investigations. If you come with me you won't be able to find out who you were."

She stared up at him for a few seconds before looking away. "I woke up strung up in a bell tower. Whatever life I had before... I wouldn't want to go back." Her voice was steady, her tone certain.

Erik released a sigh. "Let's go back to the church. We'll find out where to go from there."

It seemed Erik wouldn't be traveling alone.


	8. Chapter 8

"Watch it!" Someone said as Erik rammed shoulders with them.

"Sorry," he muttered, glancing at them. At first glance the person seemed to be a tall slender man, but a second look revealed that they were indeed a woman. She wore a man's coat and breeches and her hair was cut short and a sword hung at her hip. Her face had feminine features and the hint of breasts could be seen under the baggy shirt. She rubbed her shoulder and gripped the hilt of her sword threateningly.

"Sorry," Erik repeated, with no desire to start a duel with this woman. Moreen trailed up behind him, hands gripping the edges of her cloak in tight bunches. Blood was still crusted on her oversized cloak, stained around the base of her hood and along the flaps. He would have to find her a new one so as not to draw attention. Moreen drew the woman's attention that was for sure. Her furious brown eyes flicked to Moreen before remaining stationary on her.

"Well, have you brought my money then?" She demanded, advancing on Moreen. Moreen looked startled and slightly fearful. The taller woman was stroking her hilt with a hand absentmindedly.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Moreen stuttered, obviously forcing herself to look the woman in the eye.

"Don't lie, the money your husband still owes me for that wager. Go on then."

"She can't remember anything." Erik muttered, pulling down the side of his cloak to try and hide his disfigured face. "She has amnesia."

"Husband?" Moreen said weakly, looking down at the ring on her hand.

"Yes," the sharp tongued woman rounded on Moreen again. "That mongrel. Still owes me quite a bit of coin, mind you. Feigning some illness isn't going to get either of you out of it."

"She isn't faking, madam..."

She then rounded on Erik, her eyes flashing. A dagger appeared from her sleeve. "Call me 'madam' again and I will slice your manhood right off so quickly you'll see the blood before you feel the pain."

Erik's face turned an unpleasant shade of maroon at this woman's immodesty. "What should I call you then?"

She pursed her lips and the dagger disappeared. "Are you with the police?"

"Hardly." Erik scoffed.

"Even if you are, you'll never corner me. Never have, never will. It's Celeste." She sniffed.

"Can we speak in private?" Erik muttered. They were beginning to draw attention in the middle of the crowded street, something Erik was trying to avoid.

"I suppose we can." She mused. "Come on." She led them down the street, bringing them to a gambler's tavern. Each table was occupied with three or more men dicing or betting over cards. Some men stood around them, making wagers on the men playing. Celeste seemed right at home. She wound her way through the men and sat herself down in a chair at the back of the common room, drumming her fingers impatiently as she waited for Erik and Moreen.

Yes. Right at home.

"How do you know her husband?" Erik asked, once he and Moreen had sat down. Moreen glanced around nervously and Erik watched her eyes for any sign of recognition. She looked as confused as ever. Erik wondered if her strong urge to stay away from the police stemmed from her memory maybe returning. Only Moreen could know for sure, however.

"He played cards with me. Was lousy at it. He owed me a lot. Was in trouble I think, really needed the money. You came in here a number of times," she gestured to Moreen, "ranting and raving trying to get him to quit. You obviously didn't know he was in any sort of trouble." She shrugged.

"Where-"

Moreen kicked him under the table.

"When did you last see him?" She asked.

"It had to be... Two months ago." Celeste said.

Erik glanced at her, obviously puzzled.

"Thank you for your time." Moreen murmured, standing.

"Wait, is he ever going to pay me back?" She demanded.

"I don't know." Moreen said. She took off her ring and eyed it for a moment.

"Here." She said. "It should... Cover anything." She tossed the ring down on the table.

Celeste picked it up, turning it over in her hands. "No," she handed it back. "This is your husband's burden, not yours."

Moreen nodded and accepted the ring back before stuffing it into Erik's hand.


	9. Chapter 9

"What was that about?" Erik demanded, turning to Moreen, once they were outside the tavern.

"I thought you said we weren't conducting any investigations." She said. "That we were leaving France."

"...Okay, I did say that," Erik said quickly. "But if your husband is alive and looking for you..." He trailed off.

"I told you," she said. "I don't want to go back."

"You know something... Don't you?" Erik asked suspiciously, peering at her.

Moreen's face became dangerous. "All I know is someone strung me up in a bell tower and left me to die." She growled. Erik was taken aback. The Moreen he had seen before had been timid, afraid, dependent on him. Now something had been woken inside of her. He didn't know what it was.

Her face softened and she closed his hand over the ring. "Sell it. Maybe it will help."

Erik stared at her in astonishment. What a woman.

She started shivering again, glancing around. Blood began trickling down her face.

"Moreen, your nose." He muttered.

"What? Dammit," she cursed, holding up her cloak to soak the blood.

"What..." He knew it was pointless to ask what was wrong with her. "Air must be dry." He said to cover his silence. She nodded, still trying to stem the flow of blood.

"Lebs geh out ob teh streets bebore we're noticed." She said, pinching her nose tightly.

"Right, lets go." Erik agreed, putting a hand on her back and leading her through the crowds of Paris.

()

"This seems diabolical." Moreen commented as she shrugged her cloak off and looking up into the rafters of the bell tower. "Bringing me back here, that is."

"I'm sorry, but it's the safest place I can think of that's close by." Erik muttered, running a hand through his hair. "It's been out of use for quite some time."

"Right." She murmured, circling the underside of the bell, staring up into it. "It's still diabolical, mark you."

"It's the only way I work." He said.

"You know my name, or at least what we believe to be my name." She said, stopping her gazing to stare at Erik. "Now who are you?"

Erik looked away. "The less you know of me, the better. It will be safer that way."

"I need a name." She said, stepping forward, hands gripping the blood speckled apron across her front. "I need to know that you trust me. So I can trust you."

"It's not about trust, per say, it's... It really is about your safety Moreen. You can trust that everything I do is in my best power to keep you away from the dangers that follow me. I'll find you somewhere safe, and then I'll be gone and I'll never plague your thoughts again." He said, with a tone that implied he was done with the conversation. "You know someone's name you grow attached. The further I keep you from me, the better."

He turned from her, yanking his cloak from his shoulders. He picked up her bloodied one from the grown and began to tear it up. The sound of the ripping fabric echoed inside the enormous bell above their heads. He handed the strips to her. "Here." He said, gruffly. "I'll get you a new cloak, use these if you begin bleeding again."

She nodded and took the makeshift handkerchiefs from him, looking down at her feet. She sat on the remnants of her cloak and began brushing her fingers through her hair and tied it into a knot at the back of her head. She glanced up at him before going back to her hair, smoothing it with her hands. Her palms were rough and calloused, hardly the hands a woman her age should sport. Erik wondered what this woman had gone through due to the color of her skin. Erik hadn't given any though to her race, but he knew that Paris would. The entire world, it seemed, was plagued with prejudice and racism. And Moreen and Erik were products of such.

"Why is it," Erik asked, crossing his legs as he sat before her. "That you were so... Different. So scared web you woke up, but now you're... Not."

She looked up at him again before casting her eyes back down. "I... I had just woken up in a world that I didn't know, didn't recognize, in a body I couldn't identify as my own. Anyone would be afraid. Haven't you ever been thrown into something unexpected, forced to adapt so quickly?" She asked. "Haven't you ever been afraid?"

Images flashed in Erik's mind, horrific reminders of what his life had once been.

"I'm always afraid." He whispered.

"Of what?" She asked, cocking her head.

"Of myself." Moreen didn't hear him, but Erik heard the words as though he had shouted and they bounced off the sides of the bell and hit him, over and over. His own words pummeled him, breaking down the walls. Breaking him down into nothing.

He was nothing.


	10. Chapter 10

_"Dammit, Moreen, I'm doing this for us! To make sure you're safe." _

_"It doesn't need to be like this!"_

_"Why won't you let me protect you? Why are you being so difficult?" _

_"You've sold your soul to the devil and I won't condone that."_

()

Moreen wiped sweat from her brow as the voiced faded, leaving behind no trace that they had been there. She peered through the darkness as she tried to hold onto the dream as it slipped away from her... She laid back against the hard wooden floor, placing her hand over her eyes. She didn't want to remember. Whatever it was, she didn't want to know. Ignorance was bliss. Most people in her place would be frustrated and angry, but for her it was a relief. She didn't want to remember.

She turned on her side and reached out, feeling the man's hand through the darkness. She left her hand over his for a moment.

"Can't sleep either?" His deep, baritone voice mumbled.

"No. You?"

"I don't sleep much." He admitted. "I'm trying to come up with a plan to get us out of Paris undetected."

"Where would we go?"

"Not sure. Debating London, Tuskany, or Berlin."

"What, no Asia or Africa? I think you're reaches aren't broad enough." Moreen muttered sarcastically.

"Not Asia... And defiantly not Africa. Ague, you know."

"That seems a little..."

"It's true, the outbreaks are in rising numbers, you cross the border you're infected."

Moreen scratched her nose. "Do you think I'm from there?"

"Well, from your accent I can defiantly say you were not born in France, but you have lived here quite some time." He noted.

"Impressive."

"I've had a lot of time on my hands. Over analyzing small things that don't seem to matter pass time."

"Your life sounds thrilling."

"Trust me, you don't want to know." He grumbled. "Anyway, do you have an opinion of where we go?" Erik asked.

"Not particularly."

"Well lets see what other languages you speak." He said. "Um... Guten Tag." He murmured.

"No." Moreen responded.

"Buongiorno?"

"Still nothing." She shook her head.

"Hello." He said the last in English. She lifted her head.

"Could you understand me?"

"Yes. I could."

"Well. London it is then." He let out a breath. "We'll need a ship to get across the English Channel, and we should be safe then."

"Why those three places? Moreen asked. "Of the many countries and cities in Europe... Why those?"

"Because... I know the languages and my way around. And I don't have enemies there." He replied slowly, as though he was hesitant to divulge even this much information.

Enemies?


	11. Chapter 11

"How do you expect to get to London?" Moreen asked.

"A boat," Erik said simply.

"But we don't have any papers, nothing."

"Leave it to me." Erik muttered.

"What's your name?" Moreen asked again. He huffed.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I want to be able to call you something. It's not about getting close to you," she folded her arms, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed. "It's Erik."

"Erik." She murmured. "Okay. Thanks." She played with the simple wool dress she was wearing, wondering where she had gotten it.

"My guess is you were a servant." Erik murmured, reading her mind. "The apron and the dress. A lot of people have been coming up from Africa looking for work, people even ship off their children."

"Why do you think I know English?" She murmured.

"Maybe you lived with a bilingual family, they were born in an English country, but moved to France, or vice versa."

She nodded.

"I honestly don't know." Erik said. "I suppose the only way to find out is for your memory to come back." He hesitated before continuing. "It is still gone right?"

"What do you mean?" She furrowed her brow.

"You seemed pretty adamant about not finding out who your husband is or finding out what happened to you."

She shifted nervously. She didn't want to think about what her life was like before. Her husband obviously had a gambling in problem, she had probably been a servant to a white family that had probably treated her like property, and she had been found strung up in a bell tower. That on top of the vivid dreams she had been experiencing that were most likely her subconscious searching through her memories, she had decided that ignorance is bliss.

"I just..." She didn't feel like explaining it again to him. "I thought the less we knew about each other, the better."

He blinked. "I suppose so. You don't have the temperament of a servant, that's for sure."

"I'm not a servant. Whoever I was before was." Moreen muttered.


	12. Chapter 12

Erik stowed the bag of apples under his cloak, which he did pay for lawfully, and headed back toward the church. He paused by a post and waited for a carriage to pass before crossing the street. A piece of paper caught his eye. It was a wanted poster. It occurred to him how close he was to the police station. He looked again and he snatched it from the post.

"Shit." He muttered. It had a drawing of Moreen's face. Moreen Smith, wanted for the first degree murder of her husband.

So they were both fugitives. He wondered if this were why she was so insistent about not going to the police. Did she know about this? Or was it her subconscious letting her know not to trust the police? Either way, they had to get out of Paris as soon as possible. He wouldn't just drop her because she was wanted for murder. He'd be a hypocrite if he did that. He held the poster in his hands, wondering what he should tell Moreen. He would keep this to himself for now. If Moreen was telling the truth and did have amnesia, she would start questioning herself, wondering if she really was a murderer. Just because she was a suspect didn't mean she did it. Erik knew that. They would likely question the wife first, since she was closest to the victim. And since she was missing, and not reported dead, it could be taken as admission of guilt because she ran away. It was basic policing. Erik knew that Moreen wasn't capable of murder. It was obvious to him that whoever had strung Moreen up in that bell tower killed her husband.

()

Nadir Khan poked through the papers of his file, looking up at the chief of the Paris police.

"Why are you so insistent on finding this woman? Gabriel was killed with four stab wounds to the chest, at a downward angle. He stands 6' 2", she's 5' 1", there's no way Moreen could have given him those wounds."

The chief sniffed. "She could have been standing on a chair for all we know. We can't eliminate her has a suspect."

The former Daroga huffed. "With all do respect, I've been in the force longer than you have and-"

"With all do respect, Daroga," he cut Nadir off, putting as much condescension into the word as possible, "but you were called in to consult on the Opera Ghost case. And now the case is cold, and we don't know what else to do with you here, so you will solve this goddamn case how I tell you to. Find Moreen, bring her in. Or so help be god I'll send you back to that hell hole you call a country."

Nadir didn't appreciate the snide on Persia, but after what the shah had done to Erik, Nadir didn't fancy leaving Paris, even if he had to work under this beetle of a man.

"Fine." Nadir stood, speaking very fast to hide his annoyance. "One of your officers said he saw the girl in the lobby of the police station. Why would she show up here if she was wanted for murder?"

"She left, didn't she? What if she saw one of the posters."

That was a fair observation. "Okay. But maybe she came because she had information about her husband's murder, but was scared away by the poster."

"That's a possibility too. But either way she has information. And this way people are looking for her."

Daroga ground his teeth. "Or she's fled the country."

The chief sighed. "What do we know about her?"

"She worked for a family in Britain, the Bloomers, she was 6 or 7. She had no last name, and I figure that she changed her name when she came to Europe."

"What evidence is there of that?"

"Like I said, no last name, and a lot of girls from Africa change their names to English ones. Makes them more desirable." Daroga sighed. "She stayed with the Bloomers and they moved to France and when she was 15. She married her husband and took his name, Smith, at 20. They've been married for 6 years before his tragic demise. Rumor has it he lost a lot of money gambling. His wife didn't approve."

"That gives us motive." The chief said, clapping his hands in victory.

"Not really. I don't like people who gamble. Doesn't mean I want to kill them."

The chief wasn't listening. "Alright, when was the last time Moreen reported for work?"

"Just over a week ago, when her husband died." Nadir sighed. "Sir. I think it's more likely that if the victim had a gambling habit, whom ever he owed money to would have been more likely to kill him."

The chief couldn't deny that. "It's possible. But we have no idea who he was gambling with."

"I can check the local gambling scene. I know a few taverns."

"Fine. But the girl is our priority."

Nadir cocked his head. "Why is your heart set on this woman? And she is a woman, by the way."

It clicked in his head. The man was a racist. That's why he was so hard on Nadir and was so caught on this woman being the murderer.

"I'll go check it out." Nadir grumbled before the chief could answer his question.


	13. Chapter 13

_"Why do I have to change my name, mother?" _

_"Because your white lady won't be able to pronounce it." A tall dark skinned woman stood over her, twisting her mouth. She was standing at a counter, chopping vegetables. She looked again at her daughter and sighed. She crouched down and put her hands on the girl's shoulders. "No one will hire you if they can't say your name. They want a girl with a simpler name, so you can't keep the name you were born with." She ran a hand over the girl's head. _

_"What will my name be?" _

_"Maureen." She patted the girl's shoulders. "It's very English, and they'll be able to say it." _

_"Mama, I don't want to go." _

_"I know you don't, baby, but here has nothing to offer you. I don't have anything to offer, my sweet Mirembe." _

()

_"She looks strong." The white woman said, speaking a language the girl knew few words of. "I suppose she'll do. As she gets older, she'll do well." The blonde haired woman crouched in front of the girl. _

_"What's your name, sweetie?"_

_"M-Maureen." The girl muttered, recognizing the English word for "name". _

_"You'll want to put that on your name tag, so I can remember." The woman said, handing her a sheet of paper. The girl froze, realizing she didn't know how to spell her new name. _

_M-O-R-E-E-N she wrote shakily. _

_"Moreen?" She lady laughed, making the girl feel small. "Didn't your mother know how to spell girl?" _

_The girl shrugged, feeling very small. _

()

Moreen opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling of the storage room. The boat rocked back and forth with the motion of the ocean. She rolled over, blinking furiously. She hardly remembered the dream now, but it had disturbed powerful emotions.

Erik was still asleep, snoring slightly, and wrapped in his cloak. She was already tired of being on this boat. It made her slight nauseous; not enough to make her vomit, but it persisted all the same. The were supposed to dock today, and she was happy about it. She wasn't sure what waited for them in London, but she hoped it was better than what they had left behind.

()

Moreen pulled her hood up over her face as Erik lead her through the streets, his large hand holding her rather small wrist. People milled around them in droves. She wasn't used to this many people. He pulled her into a tavern rather suddenly, and she nearly tripped over her to own feet. Erik kept his hood up as he went to the bar. There was a tall older man, and a short boy behind the wood, cleaning glasses and serving drinks. The boy looked no older than 15 to Moreen. Erik started speaking with the tall man, leaving Moreen in front of the younger boy. He was short, only a little taller than Moreen, with dusty brown hair that almost looked blonde. His cheeks still seemed to have some baby fat, making him look very young.

"What business do you have with Erik?" The boy asked, in English. It took a second for Moreen to understand it, and even longer to formulate a response. Her accent was a little heavy even so.

"We're just traveling together."

"Mmhm." The boy smirked. "Everyone needs a good traveling companion."

"Hush up, Ron," a barmaid said, leaning over the bar beside Moreen. She had a heavy Scottish accent, and her red hair freckles to prove her nationality. Her hair hung in ringlets that were pushed back by a bandana and only hung to her shoulders. Her had a very square jaw and her nose was slightly bent, as though it had been broken and healed. Unlike Ron, she towered over Moreen.

"Don't mind him."

"Erik never brought women here." Ron pointed out.

"It's been quite a few years since we've seen him, hasn't it?" The maid pointed out.

"How long have you two worked here?"

"Five years or so." Ron said. Moreen blinked.

"How old are you?"

"22." He said.

"You're joking."

"Nope." He shook his head. "I look like I'm 14, I know."

Moreen looked back at the maid.

"It's true." She said. "I'm a year younger. Name's Anna, but the way."

"Moreen."

"Pleasure." She turned back to Ron. "Love, don't tease the patrons."

Ron stuck his tongue out at her. Moreen giggled.

"Moreen," Erik said, turning to her. "We have a room." He nodded at the two. "Anna, Ron."

"Good to see ya, Erik." Anna said. "Ron be teasing your poor lass."

"I'm sure she can handle herself." Erik said. "Come on, Moreen."

"Who were those two?" Moreen asked as she followed Erik up the stairs, reverting back to French.

"An odd couple." Erik muttered.

"They're together?"

"Yeah." Erik opened the door to their room. "They've made it this long, so they're doing something right."

Erik unlocked the door to their room, stepping aside and letting her in first.

"Home sweet home." He muttered. There were two beds, one against each wall.

"Mm." Moreen sat on one of the mattresses, bouncing slightly. "What is our plan?" She asked.

"I'm going to try and get you settled here in London." He murmured. "Find you a job or something."

"What about you?"

Erik was silent for a few seconds before he finally said, "Don't worry about me."

"Are you going to leave?"

Erik remained quiet after that. Moreen's thoughts wandered, thinking about her life, or what it had been.

"Do you think I had any children?" Moreen asked.

Erik looked at her. "I mean, it's possible. You can check your stomach for stretch marks, and your hips are an indication."

"My hips?"

He stood, placing his hands on her hips, just above her pelvic bone.

"Women's hips widen during child birth. Yours are still rather thin, so I think it's safe to say you haven't."

Moreen looked up at him and their eyes met. He pulled his hands away quickly, wiping them on his trousers. Moreen coughed and muttered, "Well that's good. I wouldn't want to abandon any little ones." Moreen sighed and sat back down on the bed. What had just happened?


	14. Chapter 14

Nadir sidled into the sleazy tavern, trying to appear inconspicuous. He wore street clothes, and for now, he was only a civilian, looking for a game of cards. As far as anyone else knew, he wasn't a cop.

Someone was shuffling a deck at a nearby table and he stared at them, trying to determine the gender of the person. They were either a very masculine woman, or a feminine man. He decided on the former and sat down at the table.

"Want me to deal you in?" The woman asked.

"How much?" Daroga asked. The woman smiled.

"I like you already. It's 50 francs to join the game. What's your name stranger?"

"Nadir." He said. He knew he couldn't bring Gabriel Smith right away. It would seems suspicious. Instead he waited as long as he could before bringing up the name. He played a few hands and joined the chitchat around the table and learned the woman's name was Celeste.

"Is this your usual group?" Nadir asked casually.

"Pretty much." One of the other men said.

"Smith hasn't shown up for a few weeks." Another pointed out.

"Smith? As in Gabriel Smith? That guy owes me money." Daroga said, wedging his intentions into the conversation.

Celeste scoffed. "He owes every one money, including me."

"When was the last time you saw the guy?"

"Maybe two months ago? I dunno. I hope he's away coming up with a way to pay me back while he's spending all this time to himself."

The men around the table laughed. Daroga considered the woman, wondering if she could be a suspect.

"Is the guy even still alive if he owes so many people money?" Daroga chuckled.

"That's a good point, C, looks like you'll never get your money back." One man chortled.

Celeste, however was peering at Nadir over her cards, eyes flicking between them and him.

"It's possible, actually."

"How you figure that, Celeste?"

"His wife was here not too long ago." She murmured, arranging her cards. "Had no clue where he was."

"Maybe ol' Moreen finally got tired of his shit and took him out." One man said.

"Ha, Moreen sure had a temper with him, but she wouldn't have the heart. She's too small, too." Celeste laughed.

"There's that."

Daroga watched Celeste carefully. Her face was relaxed, and she showed no sign of guilt or nervousness. Nadir could tell she wasn't the killer.

"He seems like a small fish." Nadir said, placing a card. "Would one of the big guys really want him gone?"

"The big guys deal with the small fish. To make an example to the others. If they let one through the cracks, then they all slip through the cracks." Celeste said seriously. "Though if the big guys he pissed off did want to hurt him, Moreen wouldn't be walking around. They can't get money from a dead guy. So they take out the people around you first." She shrugged. "Maybe the wife did take him out. She had this bullshit amnesia story."

"She tell you how she got it?"

"Nope. Didn't really care." Celeste cocked an eyebrow. "Why do you want to know?"

"Hey, if she was making up a bullshit illness, I hoped she had made up some entertaining story behind it."

"Ha! Yeah, shit I should have asked." She laughed. "I dunno, the whole thing was really weird, she was with some guy in a mask that kept her close."

Nadir's head jerked up. "A man in a mask? In Paris?"

"Yeah. Black hair, blue eyes." She twisted her mouth. "It was weird."

Nadir cursed under his breath. How the hell had Erik gotten mixed up in this?


	15. Chapter 15

Nadir flipped open the opera ghost file and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Erik, you son of a bitch," he growled.

So far his suspect list was still empty. Despite instance from higher ups about Moreen, he didn't count her as a suspect. That Celeste had made a good point when she said that if "big fish" gamblers would deal with the "small fish" by targeting their families rather than the people they wanted money from. But what's to say they didn't target Moreen? He had no way of knowing without talking to Moreen. Suspect or no, she was an important part of this investigation.

"I'm going to have to track her down." Daroga signed. "And if she's traveling with Erik, it will be easier. But is she following Erik, or is he following her?"  
There was a knock on his door, and he looked up. An officer opened the door, peering in.  
"Mr. Khan, sir? There's someone here to see you. It's about the Smith case."  
"Send him in."  
A tall black man stepped in, his clothes ragged and patched in several places.  
"What can I do for you?" Nadir asked.  
"I saw those posters you put up about Moreen," He said, biting his lip. "I was a friend of Gabe's. My name is Matthew."  
"What do have to tell me."  
"As much as I don't want to get mixed up in all this, I can't let Gabe's murderer get away with this." He hesitated.  
"What is it?"  
"It's those men he's been playing cards with. They killed poor Gabe."  
Nadir let out a breath. "What?"  
He nodded earnestly. "It's true."  
"Why?" Nadir pressed. "And how, please sit and explain everything."  
"So, Gabe got caught up with gambling, right? Well he owed a lot of people money, and one night they came into his house and killed him."  
Nadir squinted. That story was a little too cut and dry. "Tell me more. What were the events leading up to this? Were you there?"  
"We were in their kitchen, and Moreen was cooking supper. She was standing on this chair, trying to reach something. Gabe yells as these guys burst through the door, they knocked me out and when I woke up, blood was everywhere and Moreen was gone." He was wringing his hands.  
"Okay... Why are you only just now coming to the police?"  
"I... I don't like the police much, but when I saw poor Moreen was being framed, I had to say something."  
"Well, Matthew, Moreen has gone missing. Do you have any idea where she could have gone?" Nadir said.  
"Uh... Prolly to one of those English speaking countries, up north. I know she's from London. I mean, she only knows French and English."  
That was something.  
"Okay, can you describe the men who killed Gabe?"  
What he really needed was to find Moreen and he could finally put this case to bed.


	16. Chapter 16

Erik sat at the bar with his hood pulled up, squeezing a mug between his hands.  
"What is your plan, Erik?"  
"No clue. But I need to get Moreen settled in I guess."  
Ron nodded, but he still looked confused. "Why do you care about this girl?"  
"I don't. It just gives me something to do." Erik tipped his head back, finishing his mug.  
"Do you care about her?" Ron pushed.  
"I barely know her."  
Ron shrugged. "Get to know her then."  
"And why would I want to do that?"  
"You're a man, she's a woman." Ron said, smirking. "Can't be that hard for you to figure it out."  
"You have no idea what I went through in Paris that makes that idea far from what I want to do."  
As much as he told himself that he didn't want anything to do with Moreen, the more he thought about her. She was very beautiful, there was no denying that. And there was just something about her he liked. They were both fugitives on the run, trying to escape pasts neither one of them were proud of.  
"Come on, Erik." Ron purred, still smirking. "What have you got to lose?"  
"Goodnight, Ronald." Erik muttered, pushing his empty glass to the edge of the bar where Ron grabbed it. He headed upstairs to his room, feeling the buzz of the alcohol. He pushed the door open, to find Moreen sitting on her bed, a book open in her lap.  
"Oh hi," she murmured. "Anne gave this to me. English is so much easier to read than French. Are you okay?"  
While she had been talking, Erik had remained in the doorway, just looking at her, swaying slightly. Without saying anything, he climbed onto her bed, grabbing her book and setting it aside.  
"What are you...?" Her question trailed off as he hovered over her, his face just inches from hers. She closed the gap, kissing him deeply. She could probably taste the alcohol, but he didn't care. His nose was filled with the smell of her, with the smell of soap and lavender. He tangled his fingers in her thick curly hair, drinking her in, begging for more. She seemed to want him as badly as he wanted her, as her practiced fingers danced easily over the buttons of his shirt. He pulled on the laces of her dress, suddenly very glad he had found this woman hanging in a bell tower.

Moreen laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, listening to Erik's soft breaths. He slept very soundly beside her, the combination of booze and ecstasy probably knocking him out. It was almost dawn but she didn't feel like sleeping. What did this mean for the two of them? Would Erik wake up with a hangover and regret? Or would they become a couple? The latter seemed less likely, since Erik has spent the time they had been together convincing her left and right that she wanted nothing to do with him, and her life would be better once he left. She was afraid that if she fell asleep that he would be gone when she woke up. She wanted him to stay. She felt pressure on the back of her nose, and she sat up, searching for something to cover her nose with. She ran to the bathroom, resigning herself to letting the blood drip into the sink rather than ruin more of her clothes. She wondered what the hell was wrong with her, causing these consistent nosebleeds. She waited until the blood stopped and washed her face. When she returned, Erik was still asleep, and she sighed, lying down beside him. She didn't want him to leave her. She would be alone in a country she didn't remember, running from crimes she wasn't sure she committed. She was wanted for a reason. She fled the police station without reading that wanted sign, but she knew it couldn't be good.  
The sun rose higher in the sky and light shone in through the windows.  
Erik stirred, and she went stiff, pretending she was sleeping. He sat up, rubbing his head and looking around.  
"Shit," he murmured. "My head,"  
She watched him through slitted eyelids, doing her best to feign sleep. He had his head in his hands, and after a moment, he looked up, looking to her. "Moreen," he muttered, sounding sad. He reached out a hand, trailing a gentle hand over her face. "I'll be back," he promised, kissing her forehead.  
And as he put his clothes back on and left the room, Moreen finally fell asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Moreen headed downstairs into the common room of the tavern, pulling her hair back into a messy bun. Anna was working the bar when she came down. She whistled through her teeth as Moreen sat down.  
"I never knew you and Erik were together like _that_,"  
Moreen clasped her hands over her mouth. "Oh Jesus, I didn't know we were being that loud."  
"I'm used to it," Anna waved a hand. "What do you think people use this tavern for? At least Erik didn't have to pay you. He didn't, did he?"  
"Of course not," Moreen said indignantly.  
"I'm just teasing."  
"I don't know if Erik and I are even together." Moreen murmured. "He came in drunk last night and it just happened."  
Anna nodded. "Do you think he regrets it?"  
"I don't know. He left early this morning."  
"I think he went out with Ron somewhere. Don't stress about it too much, hun." Anna reassured her. "Do you want to be with Erik?"  
"I don't know. I mean until yesterday he kept insisting that we needed to keep our distance, I mean he even refused to tell me his name for the longest time. Then suddenly..."  
"Sounds like he had his heart broken." Anna nodded.  
"What?"  
"I mean, there's probably more to it than that, Erik never struck me as a simple man, but he probably insisted on distance because he had his heart broken by some woman."  
"Who knows. I mean, I sure don't. I know nothing about him. Just that he's afraid to go back to Persia and can speak English, French, German, and Italian."  
"And Spanish." Anna recalled.  
"Amazing, now I can add to my extensive list of facts on Erik." She folded her arms on the bar and rested her chin there. "We're both running away from something, and I don't know what he did to force himself out of the country. I mean his face is ugly, but it's not that bad."  
"You've seen his face?" Anna leaned in, clearly interested.  
"Yeah. He wasn't wearing a mask when I first woke up. It scared me at first but I got used to it. Eventually he got a mask."  
"So what's his face look like, huh?" Anna pressed.  
"I can't really describe it. I definitely understand why he wears it, though."  
The front door of the tavern opened and Erik and Ron stepped in, holding a few crates.  
"Morning ladies," Ron said, setting his crates on the bar.  
"Morning," Anna leaned over the bar and kissed him. "Got anything good?"  
"I was promised this wine didn't taste like shit," he pulled out a bottle and examined the label.  
"All wine tastes like shit to you."  
Moreen looked up at Erik, who was watching the squabble with amusement. Moreen willed him to look at her, but to no avail.  
"Need some help bringing these back?" Erik asked.  
"Might as well see this job til the end."  
The two men went into the back.  
"He didn't even look at me." Moreen grumbled.  
"Maybe he's embarrassed." Anna supplied.  
"Of what?"  
Anna held her hands out, about a foot apart, then brought them closer together.  
"Jesus, shut up!" Moreen said indignantly, but she started laughing. "You are very crude, you know that, right?"  
"I do my best."  
Erik and Ron reemerged from the back room, and Erik actually made eye contact with Moreen. His face turned a little red, and he rubbed the back of his neck.  
"Can we talk?" Erik asked.  
"Yeah." Moreen muttered. The two of them headed upstairs.  
"I want to apologize." Erik murmured. "I just feel like I've taken advantage of you."  
"Erik, if I didn't want it to happen, I would have told you to stop." Moreen said. "You weren't taking advantage of anyone."  
Erik ran a hand over his chin. "It's just you're, you're injured, you're in a place you don't know..."  
"I'm still capable of making decisions for myself."  
Erik nodded slowly. "I don't know what this means,"  
"I don't know either."  
"I'm not the type of person you want to be with, Moreen. I'm just not." Erik rubbed his neck. "I'm not a good person I've done a lot of bad things."  
"Tell me then. Tell me who you are."  
Erik looked sideways at her, eyebrow raised. "You don't want to hear about my life."  
"Well I don't remember my own, so I might as well know about someone's."  
Erik sighed. "I was born in Bosherville, France..."  
She listened while he explained his troubled childhood, how his mom never loved him because of his face, and how he was out on the street by the age of 12. He was forced into a gypsy fair, where he performed. He talked about his time in Persia, and then he talked about her. He would tell me her name, but I knew enough to know that she was the cause of the heart break Anna was talking about. He didn't spend too much time talking about her, but Moreen could tell she was important to him.  
"Where is she now?"  
"Probably married." Erik shrugged. "To the man she should be with. That she deserves to be with."  
"Do you still love her?"  
"I don't think I ever really loved her." Erik murmured. "I was more in love with the idea of her. I turned her into this fantasy, to this person she wasn't, and I was disappointed when she turned out to not be that person."  
Moreen nodded slowly.  
"I look for love in places I shouldn't."  
"I think we all do." Moreen murmured. "And thank you, for telling me all that."  
Erik shook his head. "You are crazy if you still want to be around me."  
"Hey, for all we know I could be too." Moreen pointed out.  
Erik chuckled. "Yeah, I suppose so."


	18. Chapter 18

Nadir walked idly down the streets of London, looking around occasionally, making sure he was where he was supposed to be. He had never been to London before, and he barely spoke the language, so getting around had proved to be difficult. He had only just started getting the hang of French. On his travels he had indeed discovered that Erik had been to London. At the docks in France, a man remembered seeing a man in a mask traveling with a small black woman. Luckily for Nadir, the two of them stood out from the crowd. And although Erik was good at hiding, Erik also didn't know London all that well either. Nadir knew that Erik had a few contacts in London, and he had been making his way down the list. His next stop was a tavern where Erik had saved a man's life, and in return offered him refuge there. Erik had written Nadir about it.  
The tavern was very well clean and well kept, and Nadir made his way to the bar. Standing there was a young man, who looked to be maybe 15 or 16, certainly not old enough to be serving alcohol, at least in this country.  
"Excuse me, I'm looking for a man named Baldwin." Nadir asked as he approached the counter. The boy looked him up and down, skeptical.  
"Baldwin's dead." He said. "But I'm his son. Is there anything I can help you with?"  
"I'm looking for a man. He's an old friend of mine. Tall, blue eyes, wears a mask."  
"Can't say I've seen him." The boy lied. He had hesitated just a moment too long before answering, and was now refusing to look Nadir in the eye.  
"What's your name?"  
"Ron,"  
"And who owns this place now your father's gone?"  
"I do." Ron shrugged, and when it was Nadir's turn to look skeptical, he added "I'm older than I look. I run this place with my wife."  
"Oh. Well I'll be needing a room then for the next few days."  
Ron hesitated again. "Yeah, alright." He handed Nadir a key.

()

Erik yawned as he headed downstairs into the common room, feeling somewhat good for the first time in months. He had no idea what life had in store for him when it came to Moreen, but at last something felt a little right.  
Ron waved him over to the bar, looking a little panicked.  
"Erik, there's a man upstairs looking for you. He asked for a room and if I turned him away he would have known I was lying, Jesus what have gotten me into?"  
"Slow down, Ron. Who's upstairs?"  
"Some man, dark skin, wore a funny gray hat."  
Nadir.  
"Which room is he in?"  
"17, why do you know him?"  
"I do, actually."  
Without saying anything else, Erik headed upstairs, not exactly sure why the chief of Persian police had followed him all the way to London.  
"Nadir," he said, knocking on the door. "It's Erik."  
The door swung open and Erik was face to face with his old friend.  
"Why are you here?" Erik asked. Nadir stepped aside, inviting Erik inside.  
"I'm here because of a woman named Moreen Smith. She's wanted back in Paris for the murder of her husband."  
Erik was floored. "Since when do you work for the Paris police?"  
"After your case went "cold" they offered me a job." Nadir explained. He sat in an armchair in the corner while Erik sat on the edge of the bed.  
"I see."  
"Yes. But the police chief is a huge jackass. He's convinced that Moreen killed Gabriel, her husband. But there's no forensic evidence. She was too short to kill him for one thing. And there's an eye witness that claims a group of men killed him."  
"Hm." Erik murmured.  
"Do you know her?"  
"I do." Erik said slowly. "She's here with me."  
"Would you mind if I talk to her? I'm not going to arrest her, but I need some answers."  
"I mean you can, but you're not going to get much out of her, she can't remember anything. She sustained a head injury. I found her strung up in the bell tower of Notre Dame. She was left with this cryptic note and no memory of who she was."  
"Do you still have the note?" Nadir asked.  
"I think so. It's in my room though. And you can talk to Moreen, though like I said you aren't going to get much out of her."  
They made their way over to the room Erik shared with Moreen.  
"Moreen," Erik opened the door slowly. "Moreen, this is Nadir Khan, an old friend of mine."  
Moreen stood up, holding out a hand to him. "Pleased to meet you." Moreen said.  
"Likewise."  
"He's with the Paris Police, but don't worry, he's on our side. He just wants to clear up a few things."  
Moreen's shoulders visibly tended up, but she nodded in agreement.  
"I know you didn't kill your husband," Nadir started. "I just want to find who does."  
"Well, I can't help you. Whoever killed him got me really good and I don't remember anything about who I am."  
"Erik mentioned he found you with a note. Do you have that still?"  
"Yeah," Moreen opened her book and pulled out a folded piece of paper.  
"You were using it as a bookmark?"  
Moreen shrugged.  
"Well, when we have more definitive suspects and I can cross reference their handwriting."  
"Alright." Moreen murmured. She looked very uncomfortable. Erik regretted bribing Nadir here, but it was the only way to clear Moreen's name.  
"A friend of your husband came to visit me in my office, his name was Mathew. Does that ring any bells?"  
"I'm sorry no."  
"And where were you hit on the head?"  
Moreen turned around and parted her black curls, exposing the pink scar that ran across her scull.  
"Interesting." Nadir murmured.  
"What?" Moreen demanded.  
"Well, when your husband was attacked, Mathew mentioned you were standing on a chair. So I thought maybe you had just fallen, which caused the head injury, but the location of the wound indicates you were struck on the back of the head purposely."  
"Why should that make any difference?"  
"Well this note and the blow to the back of your head means that you could still be in danger, Moreen. It was good coming to London. Your husband owed a lot of people money, and I'm trying to figure out who,"  
"Who was that woman we talked to in Paris, the one who gambled with your husband," Erik pointed out.  
"The woman who dressed like a man?" Moreen asked.  
"Tall, with short brown hair, wears a gold locket?" Nadir supplied. "I already spoke with her. She doesn't know much other than he owed someone big money, but doesn't think it was likely to be them, since killing people isn't exactly the best way to get money from them. She says they target the family, which is maybe what happened to you. And maybe your husband died defending you."  
Moreen shrugged. "Who knows,"  
Erik had stopped listening to what Nadir was saying and just watching Moreen. He stared at her beautiful, full lips, longing to kiss them again.  
"Thank you for the help," Nadir tipped his hat to both of them. "I'll be in town a few more days as I try to figure out what to do next."  
"You're welcome," Erik murmured as Nadir left. Erik crossed the room to Moreen, putting a hand under her chin, and as he kissed her, she stood on tiptoe to meet him.  
He didn't know what any of this meant, he just didn't want it to end.


	19. Chapter 19

Moreen ran a hand over the scar on the back of her head absentmindedly.  
"You okay?" Anna asked.  
"Yeah, I'm fine." Moreen said. "I'm just thinking about what Nadir said."  
"That police officer upstairs?"  
"Yeah." Moreen brushed her hair over the scar. "I just had this whole other life. One I don't even remember. I had a husband, a job... and I lost everything, but I can't even grieve properly because I don't even know I had it." Moreen sighed. "I'm just glad I never had any children to complicate things."  
"Why didn't you and your husband have kids, I wonder. Do you know how long you were married?"  
"A while, I think." She gripped her mug. "Nadir might know. I mean it was his job to investigate me."  
"He might." Anna agreed.  
Moreen stood up from the bar, holding her mug, but when she took a step forward, her foot slid out from under her and she fell forward. She tried to catch herself with her hands, and the mug shattered.  
"Moreen!" Anna yelled, running around the bar, helping her up. "You're bleeding,"  
"Am I?" She stared down at her left hand, which had a gash down the middle of her palm. Blood flowed in a steady stream over her hand and onto the floor.  
"Here, hun," Anna checked the wound for glass before grabbing a towel and tying it tight around Moreen's hand. "Keep it above your heart."  
"Right." She felt a little dizzy. She sat back down at the bar, holding her arm above her head, applying pressure with her other hand.  
"Is everything okay?" Erik came running down the stairs. Moreen was touched that he looked just a little panicked. Upon seeing the broken glass, Moreen's bandaged hand, and the blood Anna was now cleaning off the floor, the lines in his brow deepened with worry.  
"It's just a bit of glass." Moreen said. "I'll be okay."  
"How deep is it? Will you need stitches?"  
"Maybe." Anna said, throwing the broken glass into a bin. "But I know how to do them, don't worry. But I won't know anything until the bleeding stops.  
Erik nodded.  
"Are you worried about me?" Moreen teased.  
Erik blushed a little. "I just wanted to be sure you were okay."  
About twenty minutes later Anna motioned for Moreen's hand.  
"The bleeding should have stopped by now.  
When Moreen lowered her hand, the towel had turned completely red, over saturated with blood. When Anna gingerly pulled the towel off, blood was still flowing from her hand.  
"What the hell..." Erik said.  
"Keep pressure on the wound." Anna said, grabbing another towel. "Try and cut off the blood flow.  
"I don't feel well," Moreen murmured. "I feel lightheaded."  
"How much blood has she lost?" Erik demanded. "Why won't it stop?"  
"I don't know," Anna's voice wavered. "Ron!"  
"What's going on?" Ron emerged from a back room.  
"You should send for a doctor." Anna said. "Go."  
"What should I tell him?"  
"That Moreen hasn't stopped bleeding, that it's been nearly a half hour and it won't stop."  
Moreen was suddenly very scared. Due to her nose bleeds, she had become used to blood leaving her body at alarming rates, but now she didn't know what was happening to her.  
Ron returned after another half hour with a wiry old man who carried a black bag.  
"Let me see the cut." He said, gesturing with his thin, bony fingers. Moreen held out her arm gingerly. Due to the blood loss, she had trouble keeping her hand steady.  
"How long has it been bleeding like this?"  
"Over an hour." Moreen murmured.  
"And the flow hasn't slowed at all?" And when Moreen shook her head he considered her. "Keep pressure on the wound." He instructed. "Is there somewhere Moreen and I can talk in private?"  
"Yes, there's a private dining room," Ron led the way, Erik holding on to Moreen so she wouldn't fall over.  
"Do you suffer from other strange symptoms like frequent nose bleeds or bruises that just won't heal?"  
Moreen had no idea about the second one. "The nose bleeds. They happen a lot. Why, do you know what's wrong with me?"  
"My diagnosis isn't good. What you have is called haemorrhaphilia. It's a condition where your blood doesn't clot properly. How old are you?"  
"Uh," Moreen realized she didn't know. So, she took a stab in the dark. "28."  
He raised his eyebrows. "How could you have lived your whole like and not know about this?"  
She figured the truth was the best policy. "I recently sustained a serious head trauma, I don't remember much of who I am."  
"I see." He chewed on this information. "Well you didn't die of a brain bleed, so obviously you have a milder form of the condition. Most people with the disease don't live past 20. You are lucky. You'll probably suffer the uncomfortable bleeding and the nose bleeds, but as long as no major injuries occur, you should be okay. Just keep pressure on the wound, and there is a medicine that can stay the bleeding.  
"What medicine?"  
"Here," he wrote it down on a piece of paper. "I do not possess it, but you might be able to find someone who does. It will help with minor cuts, but if you get stabbed, for example, it won't be able to help you."  
Moreen felt sick to her stomach.  
"And there's one more thing." He shifted, like he was suddenly uncomfortable. "Women who had this disease...it's advised they never have children."  
"Why?" Moreen demanded.  
"Because you would bleed out during child birth." He said simply. "I'm sorry, ma'am."  
She guessed she knew the reason why she and her husband never had children.  
"Thank you," she murmured. She just really wanted to lie down. "Could you ask Erik to come in here, please? On your way out."  
Erik was at her side in a moment.  
She didn't know who she was.  
She didn't know who he was.  
But right now, he was what felt safe to her. He had saved her once, and she felt as though she could trust him.  
"Are you okay? What's wrong?"  
"Apparently when I get cut, I don't stop bleeding." Moreen wiped her eyes with her good hand. She handed him the little slip of paper. "The doctor said that this would help."  
"I'll see if Ron would be able to get this. I'll be right back."  
And like he promised, he returned after a few minutes.  
"How's the bleeding."  
Moreen lifted the red cloth. Two hours since she had sliced her hand open and the blood had only slowed a little, and the skin around the cut was starting to turn black and blue, forming a nasty bruise.  
"Everything is going to be okay." Erik assured her. "I promise."  
But she knew he could never promise that.


	20. Chapter 20

Moreen picked at the stitches in her palm absentmindedly, pulling them before releasing them.  
"Don't do that," Anna snapped her with a towel. "You'll make yourself bleed again,"  
"Sorry." Moreen murmured.  
"What's wrong?" Anna asked, sitting next to her.  
"So many things."  
They both looked up as Nadir came down stairs.  
"Moreen, I have to talk to you about something."  
"What's that?"  
Nadir hesitated. "I'm asking you to come back to Paris with me."  
"Why?" She demanded.  
"Because, the only way to convince my police chief of your innocence is if you come back with me willingly. And maybe we could find something there that could bring your memory back, and we can track down the men that killed your husband."  
"Why does the Paris police care so much about some lowly gambling black man?" Moreen said. "I mean you said your chief was biased towards you and me because of the color of our skin, so why does he care so much about finding my husband's killer?"  
Nadir winced. "Your employer, the one you and your husband worked for, is paying a great deal of money to the police chief. They want to find whoever damaged their..."property" and bring them to justice. Unfortunately that man is now my boss, but if I can convince him that you are innocent, you can travel as you please without fear of persecution."  
There was so much Moreen didn't know, so much she wanted to know. She wanted to know where she came from, who she was, hell, how old she was. But, just as much as she did want to know, she equally didn't want to know.  
"Could Erik come with me?" She asked.  
"If he wants to." Nadir said, looking a little taken aback.  
"If he'll go with me, then I'll accompany you back to Paris."  
Erik was her only root in reality, in truth. She wasn't ready to leave him behind.  
"Talk to Erik then, and let me know. I plan to set out on the morrow."  
Moreen nodded as Nadir walked away. She felt sick to her stomach. She had a very bad feeling about all of this.  
"Erik," Moreen pushed their bedroom door open. "Erik, I need to ask you something?"  
Erik was sitting on the bed, playing with something small in his hands. He stood up quickly when he saw her, stowing it in his pocket.  
"Yeah, Moreen?"  
"What was that?" Moreen asked, pointing at his pocket.  
"It's nothing."  
"Erik,"  
He sighed. He pulled a small, glittering ring out, placing it in his palm.  
"Erik," Moreen said slowly, "that's not what I think it is."  
"Oh god no," he said quickly. "Not that I wouldn't, I don't," he stumbled over his words. "It was meant for that woman I mentioned. The one I thought I loved. I keep it as a reminder." He stowed the ring away again, wiping his hands on his trousers. "What is it you needed, Moreen?"  
"Uh, well Nadir, wants to take me back to Paris. To put the bullshit in regards to my late husband's murder to bed."  
Erik nodded slowly. "And you want to go with him?"  
"Only if you come with me,"  
Erik sighed. "Come sit with me, Moreen." He patted the bed as he sat himself. "Why do you want me around?"  
"Because I don't know anything about myself, Erik. The only thing I know is that you were the one who found me, cut me down, and made sure I got to safety when I was falsely accused of murder. In the beginning it may not have felt like it, but you cared about me."  
"Moreen..."  
"Don't try to talk me out of being with you." Moreen said. "Because I won't let you."  
Erik smiled. "You are unlike any woman I have ever met." He stood again, holding his hand out to her. "And I will accompany you to Paris if you wish. Hopefully Nadir will be able to clear your name. And who knows, maybe some of your memories will come back."  
She hoped not.

()

Erik hefted Moreen's back on his shoulder, walking next to Nadir as the boarded the boat that would carry them across the English Channel. Nadir flashed his badge and they were allowed on without their bags being searched.  
"What do you expect to find, taking Moreen back?"  
"I'm not sure. I'm kind of hoping that whoever attacked her in the first place will show their ugly heads and I can deal with them."  
"You want to use her as bait?" Erik bristled.  
"I know she won't get hurt. Not with you and I around." Nadir pointed out.  
"Yes, but in her condition it's best not to risk it."  
"Condition?" Nadir asked, raising and eyebrow.  
"She's not pregnant." Erik snapped. "I meant the fact that when she starts bleeding she doesn't stop. And she's more susceptible to internal bleeding due to trauma."  
"Erik, if the people who killed her husband wanted her dead, she would be. They need her alive for some reason. Most likely to get back the money he owes. We parade her around a few days any they're probably going to try and make contact, collect on what they're owed. And once that happens, I'll swoop in and arrest them. Moreen will be fine."  
Erik was skeptical, but he didn't have any better ideas on what to do.  
"You two travel light," Nadir murmured, gesturing to the bag over Erik's shoulder.  
"Well we're two people who have no lives before now. We don't have much."  
Nadir chuckled to himself.  
"What?"  
"I remember a time when you liked all sorts of shiny things. I remember your little lair below the opera house, all the things you kept there."  
"Well, when you're being chased by an angry mob, you learn very quickly how to let things go." Erik said dryly.  
Nadir laughed and clapped Erik on the back.  
"Well, you're going home."  
"Home. I don't even know what that means."


	21. Chapter 21

Moreen sat in Nadir's office nervously, hands wringing her skirt. Even though she knew that Nadir was on her side, she was still anxious about all of this. Erik couldn't come with her, so she sat all alone in this office, waiting for something to happen.  
"Moreen,"  
The door opened and Nadir walked in, followed by a man she didn't recognize. She stood up, and he took that as invitation to hug her.  
"It's so good to see you, Moreen," he squeezed her tight.  
"Uh," she stood there, stiff as a board.  
"Matthew, like I said, she doesn't really remember anything before the attack."  
The man, whom she now knew as Matthew, pulled away from her, looking upset. "Oh."  
"Please, take a seat," Nadir said, sitting behind his desk. "Moreen, this is Matthew, he knew your husband and was there when he died."  
"Mm." Moreen murmured, looking Matthew up and down. He was tall and thin, with big eyes that reminded her of a lost puppy. He reached for her hand, and it took all she could to not pull away. She didn't want to be rude.  
Matthew explained what he saw the night Gabriel died, and that he was sure it was the people he owed money to.  
"So here's what I want to do." Nadir explained. "I want to parade you around a little. Have you boast about the fortune you earned while in London in the taverns where your husband used to gamble, and hopefully the right people will hear. When people start coming after you for money, I can start taking names and hauling them in for questioning."  
"Do I have much of a choice?" Moreen asked.  
"Of course you do. But if you want to bring these men to justice, you'll help."  
Moreen nodded. "I just want this madness to be over."  
"Maybe nothing will happen at all." Nadir shrugged. But your cooperation with this investigation will prove to my boss that you're innocent."  
"Okay." Moreen agreed.

()

Erik waited a few blocks away from the police station, holding a bundle of flowers, waiting for Moreen to finish with Nadir. He didn't know what he wanted to say to her, he just know he wanted her. He didn't want to lose her. He peered around the corner and saw Moreen approaching with a tall black man he didn't know. They stopped walking, and she turned to him.  
"What do you mean?" She asked.  
He sighed. "You really don't remember me?"  
"I'm sorry, but I don't know anything about my past. The only reason I know my name is because of a note that the person who attacked me left."  
"You know, that wasn't always your name." The man said. "Mirembe was the name your mother gave you. But when you came to London, you changed it to Moreen so the white lady who hired you could pronounce it."  
"I think... I remember having a dream about that." Moreen murmured.  
"Oh, Moreen." He put a hand on her face. "I wish you could remember. We...we were together. You were going to leave Gabriel when everything happened. You were tired of the gambling and him losing your money... Then two years ago you and I started seeing each other. He was never home at night anyway, he was addicted to the dice. You were fed up and we were in love..."  
"Matthew..."  
He took her hands. "I want you to come home with me. Your memory will come back in time, and now that Gabe is gone, we don't have to be afraid anymore. Please, Moreen."  
Erik's heart fell out of the sky.  
"At least stay with me while you're in Paris." He tilted her chin up and kissed her gently.  
"Matthew." She pulled away after a moment.  
"If you'd stay with me it will make everything look more believable. Hell, if you're with me, people might start coming after me for money, and we can catch the bastards who did this."  
"I don't know." Moreen glanced around. "Just wait here, give me a minute." She rounded the corner to where Erik had been eavesdropping. He hid the flowers behind his back.  
"You heard all that, didn't you?" Moreen asked, her eyes wide.  
"Yeah." Erik murmured. "Moreen you should go be with him."  
"But-"  
"What if you wake up in a few months and remember that you're in love with him instead?" Erik hung his head. "I couldn't do that to you."  
Moreen was silent for a minute. "I don't know what to do."  
"Go with him. I have nothing to offer you." Erik admitted. "We've been living in this little rose colored bubble the past few months, but when it comes down to it, I don't have a life that can keep you happy."  
Moreen looked confused and scared. She looked the like woman he found hanging in the bell tower.  
"What if I don't wake up?" She asked. "What if my memory loss is permanent?"  
"You don't know that," Erik murmured. "Please. For my sake. Go with him. You have a chance at stability, to have a normal life." He took a deep breath. "If you don't want to be with him, meet me in the bell tower in two months. But I don't want to take you away from the person you're supposed to be with,"  
Every word was hurting Erik's heart, but he knew this was the right thing to do. He had very few chances to do that, and if Moreen had a better chance, he wanted to give it to her. Isn't that what love meant?  
Moreen opened her mouth, gaping. "Have you been waiting this long to get rid of me? You just use me, fuck me a few times and just be done with me?"  
Erik crushed the flowers he was hiding behind his back in his fist. "Yeah. That's it." He threw the flowers at her feet. "Since you think so little of me,"  
And he walked away.  
It was easier this way. If she didn't want to think he was letting her go cause he cared, he would let her think he was letting her go because he didn't.


	22. Chapter 22

Moreen set her bag down in the hallway of Matthew's flat, glancing around uncertainly.  
"You'll remember," he said, coming up behind her and putting a hand on her back. She nodded slowly.  
"Who was that man in the mask?" Matthew asked.  
"No one."  
She went to the washroom to change the bandages on her hand. She stared at the stitches, forgetting how long she was supposed to keep those in. Anna had told her, but she just expected Erik to know this. But he was probably halfway back to London by now.  
"What happened to your hand?" Matthew asked, coming up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders.  
"I cut my hand on some glass."  
"It's a good thing you got the bleeding under control." He nodded.  
"You know about that?"  
"Of course." He opened a cabinet on the wall. "I keep this around just in case." He handed her the bottle of medicine that was designed to top her bleeding. She recognized it from London.  
"Hm." She turned it over in her hands.  
"I guess if you don't remember you have it, it's probably a shock when you start bleeding and won't stop."  
"Yeah. I had these nosebleeds that just wouldn't go away." Moreen set the bottle on the counter. "I'm lucky I didn't bleed to death when whoever bashed my brains in cut my head open."  
"I wish no one had bashed your brains in, love."  
Moreen fingered the scar on the back of her head. Something was bothering her, but she didn't know what.  
"I don't feel good, I'm going to go to bed."  
"Okay." Matthew watched her leave the bathroom, and she headed for the bedroom.  
"Your memory is already coming back." Matthew pointed out.  
"What?"  
"Most people ask when they need to know where the bathroom is or the bedroom. You already knew where to go."  
Was this just a coincidence that she knew which room was which, or had this tale that Matthew spun hold some truth? She didn't know what to believe.  
Moreen hadn't been lying when she said she wasn't feeling well the previous night. The next morning her head pounded and her stomach churned. Matthew still slept soundly next to her. She wondered if she just needed some air. She stepped out onto the balcony and let the cool morning air soothe her overheated body. After an hour or so she felt a little better and went back inside. She didn't feel like eating anything, so she wandered the flat, looking for something that might jog her memory. Moreen now hoped that the man was telling the truth, and that when her memories returned, she would be happy she chose him over Erik. She just wanted the masked man out of her head. She wanted to forget him. She needed to forget him.  
She wondered if her illness was connected to her hand, if it has become infected or something. She peeled off the bandages, prodding at the red, inflamed skin there. She made her way into the bathroom, searching for something to clean the wound with. She kicked herself for not being more careful with the deep cut in her hand.  
Her hand brushed the bottle of medicine Matthew had shown her last night. She was struck with an idea. If Matthew knew about her haemorrhaphilia, he must have seen her bleed at some point. She stripped down, checking herself out in the mirror, looking for scars. She found one, on her outer thigh. It was long and thin. As she ran her fingers over it, she remembered something.  
It had been a long day at work, and she had been folding laundry. One of the kids of the woman she worked for have left something sharp sitting out, and as she passed the table where it was, it ripped her dress and cut her. She got permission to go home early so she could deal with it. When she went home, Gabriel and Matthew were there, both were ready to tend to her. Gabriel and soothing, applying pressure to her leg while Matthew helped with the medication. And just as quickly as it came, the memory was over. So far, it was the largest scrap of her past that had come back to her. She searched for other scars. She had one on the top of her foot she'd gotten as a child that her mother wrapped up tightly. One in the small of her back from falling down the stairs and getting a bad rug burn. One on the back of her hand while cutting vegetables in the kitchen. One injury after another, linking her to some broken portion of a memory. Finally she ran out of scars, and she almost felt sad, wishing she was covered in enough injuries to bring back all her memories, but considering her disease she probably wouldn't have survived it.  
The rush of memory left her winded, exhausted.  
"Are you okay?"  
Moreen jumped, turning and seeing Matthew standing in the hallway.  
"I'm fine." She lied. "Hey do you think I could go back to the house where Gabriel and I lived? It might jog my memory some."  
"Of course." He said slowly. "Let's get dressed first. And breakfast."  
"Sure." Moreen was anxious to leave the house, she hoped that going back to the place she had lost her memories would inevitably bring them back.


	23. Chapter 23

Moreen entered the house she once shared with her husband nervously, looking around. Matthew followed her closely, refusing to leave her side.  
"Remember anything?" He asked.  
"I think so. I feel like I've been here before. Like dejavu." She murmured. She made her way into the kitchen, where she nearly screamed. Dark bloodstains had soaked into the wood floor in two places. One was smaller than the other, and the other was taped off, indicating that's where her husband died.  
She stared at the second blood puddle, the one she knew must have belonged to her. She touched the scar on the back of her head when a strange thought occurred to her.  
Nadir had said that she was safe because if whoever wanted her husband dead wanted her dead, she already would be. But, she should have been dead. When her head had been struck, she should have bled to death hanging in that bell tower, with no pressure and no medicine to stop the bleeding.  
Unless... the person who killed her husband and who had attacked her knew about her illness, and knew how to stop the bleeding.  
She turned to Matthew, who was looking around the living room, completely unconcerned. She didn't know what game he was playing, but all she knew was she didn't want to play it anymore. She needed to find Erik. She needed to apologize, and she needed to get as far away from this man as possible. But he had yet to leave her alone. She moved to the bedroom, looking for some escape. There was one window, just barley big enough for her to fit through. She glanced around before unlatching the window, attempting to wiggle through.  
Her heart stopped when someone grabbed her feet and pulled her back through.

()

Erik's footsteps echoed in the empty bell tower, each step a reminder of just how alone he was. He knew he had made the right decision when it came to Moreen, but that doesn't mean he didn't hate himself for letting her go. Even after what she said, he would still sit in this bell tower with empty hopes. He thought about possibly returning to London when all this was said and done, when the two months passed, when he knew whether or not she loved him. He knew it was unlikely he would ever see her again, but he couldn't help but hope.


	24. Chapter 24

Moreen struggled against Matthew as he pulled her back through the window.  
"Where are you going, my sweet?" He hissed, holding her arms right behind her back.  
"I know it was you," she gasped. "You killed him, you attacked me. You staged it to make it, you liked to Nadir!" She kicked and scratched, trying her best to pull away from him.  
"Gabriel never appreciated what he had. He never loved you like I did. I thought this was our chance, for us to have a life together, Moreen. We could have created new memories. But now, oh Moreen." He threw her into a bookshelf on the far wall, the shelves collapsing under her weight, books and wood cascading down on her.  
"Matthew, stop!" She cried.  
"We could have been together. You could have just let this go."  
The world started to turn dark, turning dark and fuzzy around the edges. He stepped out of the room, and Moreen fought to stay conscious, crawling forward. She staggered to her feet, leaning on the bed, her knees wobbling. She heard something in the house, something crackling and popping. She staggered to the living room, where the curtains and most of the furniture had been set ablaze.  
She stepped forward, lunging for the door, but something hit her against the back of the head and the world went dark.

()

Consciousness returned to Moreen slowly, and she was half convinced she was dead. But when her eyes opened, she saw she was in a white room. Nadir stood in the doorway, speaking quietly to someone on the other side of the door.  
"Nadir," she croaked. He whipped his head around.  
"Moreen, you're awake." He smiled.  
"What happened?"  
"I went by your old home on my rounds, to find it burning. I pulled you out before you could suffocate on the smoke."  
Moreen sat up. "Nadir, it was Matthew! He killed Gabriel."  
Nadir considered her for a moment. "Are you sure?"  
"He's the one who started the fire." She explained the connection she had made before the fire.  
"I see. Shit, he could be anywhere by now. Let me see what I can do," he was about to leave when she stopped him.  
"Nadir, where's Erik?"  
He paused. "I haven't seen him since we got to Paris."  
Moreen nodded. "Okay."  
"Stay here," Nadir instructed. "You need rest."  
She needed to find Erik. She needed to tell him she was sorry. She wanted him back.  
She had been so caught up in Matthew and everything that had just happened, she barely even noticed that her memories were back. Matthew had made everything up, the affair, the fact they were in love, everything.  
She didn't care what Nadir said, she needed to find Erik.


	25. Chapter 25

Erik slept soundly under his cloak, or as soundly as he could in the drafty bell tower.  
"Erik!"  
He stirred, wishing the voice would go away. Didn't they know he was trying to sleep?  
"Erik! Are you here?"  
Moreen haunted him when he was awake, she didn't need to invade his dreams too. He sat up, rubbing his head. He really needed to get her out of his head. As he opened his eyes, he felt arms throw themselves around his neck, squeezing him tight.  
"Moreen." He breathed, afraid to touch her back, afraid she would dissolve and this would really be a dream.  
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it." Moreen said into his neck. She pulled away from him, kissing him deeply, and he knew this wasn't a dream.  
"I love you," he whispered, holding her face, which upon further inspection, was bruised. "What happened?" He demanded, and listened in horror as Moreen explained that it had been Matthew behind everything, and how he had locked her in a burning house.  
"You should be in the hospital!"  
"I was," she admitted. "But I needed to find you."  
Erik shook his head, and he picked her up in his arms easily. "We're going back there, then. You need rest, and doctors."  
"Yes, dear," Moreen murmured, snuggling into his chest.

()

Back at the hospital, the nurses made sure Moreen was seen to right away and got her back into bed.  
"It's good you came back." Moreen's doctor said as he came back into the room. "Moreen we may want to speak in private about something."  
"What's going on?" Moreen asked, suddenly worried.  
"You're not dying," he assured her. He asked the nurses to stand out. Once Erik had dropped her off at the hospital he had left her there, running off to find Nadir.  
"So then lay it on me, what's wrong?"

()  
"So have you caught the bastard yet?" Erik demanded.  
"We're tracking him down, Erik. We're doing the best we can." Nadir muttered. "But there's the matter of Moreen."  
"What do you mean?" Erik demanded. "She's safe now, isn't she?"  
Erik draped his cloak over one arm, glancing back as he tried to brush Daroga off. "Just as long as you catch Matthew, then she'll be safe. And we can be together."  
"I just hope you know what you're doing."  
"I'm leaving Paris for good. And I'm taking Moreen with me."  
"Erik." Nadir said sternly. "Does she know?"


	26. Chapter 26

Moreen kept smoothing her dress nervously over her abdomen as she rounded the corner, her hands shaking slightly. She had just been discharged, and had gone to the police station to find Erik and Nadir. She had been pointed in the direction of Nadir's office by a fresh faced officer. She paused when she saw Erik standing there with Nadir, apparently arguing.  
"Does she know?" Nadir demanded. Erik paused.  
"Know what?" He grumbled. Moreen considered stepping forward, but she kind of wanted to hear this.  
"Know what, don't play stupid with me! About the opera ghost!" He yelled. "About how you killed at least three people, and those are just the ones that are on your file!"  
Moreen froze. That couldn't be true, could it? The man she knew wasn't a murderer. She waited for Erik to deny the accusations, but she would be waiting for a long time.  
"That was a different time, and I was a different person."  
"You can tell yourself that all you want, but it doesn't change anything."  
Moreen's hands traveled to her abdomen, feeling sick.

"Erik, you pretended to be a ghost, terrorized an opera house, tomorneted that poor girl, and killed people. You owe Moreen the truth."

"She doesn't have to know." Erik muttered. "We're going back to London where no one has even heard of the Opera Ghost."  
"You don't think I deserve to know this?" Moreen said, causing both men to swing their heads around to look at her. The blood drained from Erik's face.  
"Moreen, let me explain,"  
"Did you kill people?" She asked, eyes watering. She didn't want to believe it.  
"I didn't... I... Like I said, it was a-"  
She didn't let him finish, she turned away from him, but Erik grabbed her arm, blue eyes pleading with her to stay.  
"Moreen, please. I am the man you know me as now. Not who I was. I'm not that man."  
She considered her next words carefully. She glanced at Daroga who looked ready to step in if he needed, hand on the weapon under his coat.  
"Erik... I... I can't. I can't believe you're the opera ghost, that you did all those terrible things."  
Erik grit his teeth, obviously trying fight back grief and anger. "I didn't... Please. Please don't go."  
Moreen wanted to stay. She wanted to forget everything she just heard and run away with Erik. In the time she spent with him, he had shown no signs of malice or the desire to kill. In the beginning he had been cold, sure, but a killer? It didn't seem possible.  
"Just let me explain." He said. "Please."  
She paused, wishing that she could make "yes" come out of her mouth. "I... I can't. Erik I'm so sorry. I wish I could forget this, but I just..."  
She ran before she had to explain herself anymore. Erik stepped forward, with the intention to follow, but Nadir stopped him, shaking his head.

"Let her go."


	27. Chapter 27

Moreen peered under the cowl of her cloak as she entered the tavern. It had been months since she had last seen Erik, and she hoped that he wouldn't find her here since she had stayed away for so long. Anna was behind the counter, wiping a glass lazily and she looked up at Moreen as she walked in.  
"Hey, Mo!" She smiled, setting the glass down. "I haven't seen you and Erik for a while."  
"Erik can't know I'm here." Moreen said, pulling off her cloak.  
"Oh." Anna murmured, eyes traveling to Moreen's swollen belly. "How far along are you?"  
"Five, six months." Moreen murmured.  
"Is Erik..."  
Moreen nodded. "He can't know. He isn't the man I thought he was."  
Ron appeared from the back, his youthful face falling when he saw her.  
"Jesus Christ, Erik has been looking for you for weeks!"  
"Has he?" Anna blinked. "This is news to me."  
"And..." Ron approached her from around the bar. "You're pregnant, fuck, does Erik know?"  
"No! And he... He can't know." Moreen insisted.  
"He has a right to-"  
"Ronald!" Anna snapped. "Take a good look at the poor girl, she's covered in dirt and rags. How 'bout we stop interrogating her and get her washed up, huh?" She smacked him on the head with a spoon.  
"Okay." He murmured. "Don't worry, we'll get you cleaned up."  
"And we won't take any coin from you," Anna nodded. Moreen smiled gratefully.  
"Let's go." Anna came around the bar and put a hand on Moreen's back, leading her upstairs.

()

Moreen, clean and in fresh clothes, headed downstairs into the common room, peering around the corner, seeing Anna and Ron talking over the bar. There were a few patrons sitting at the tables, but they didn't make enough noise so Moreen couldn't hear what they were saying. She didn't mean to eavesdrop, but she couldn't help it once she heard they were talking about her.  
"Why do you think she won't tell him?" Ron asked.  
"It's none of our business." Anna said. "We've always known Erik was a shady character. I mean, we only trusted him because your father did. I mean, a man in a mask wondering around isn't common or normal. If Moreen doesn't trust him, I say good for her."  
Moreen approached the bar, deciding she'd heard enough.  
"You look much better." Anna said, smiling.  
"I feel better."  
Anna took Moreen away to get some food, and neither of them noticed Ron grab a cloak and slip out the back.


	28. Chapter 28

Erik stared at the bottom of an empty bottle, slouched over in an alley, leaning against a fence. He looked up as someone approached him.

"Erik?"

"Ron?" Erik tried to stand, but his legs failed him.

"Jesus." Ron murmured.

"How did you find me?" Erik muttered, jerking his cloak farther forward to hide his face.

"The Daroga has been keeping an eye on you."

"He's in London?"

"Yeah, claims he likes it better than Paris." He said. "They offered him a job once he finished his last case in Paris." He squatted down. "Erik, you need to find Moreen."

"Why?" Erik demanded. "So she can tell me I'm a monster again, and just walk away?"

"Erik,"

"If she doesn't want me around-"

"Erik!" Ron yelled. "She's pregnant."

Erik blinked. "What?"

"She came to me and Anna in really bad shape. She doesn't have anywhere to go, she's totally alone."

Erik looked stunned. "I... I didn't know." He sighed. "Look, she was probably right leaving then. I would be a lousy father."

"She's living on the street." Ron pressed. "Luckily she came to Anna and me, but she can't stay forever."

"And what do I have to offer?"

"Love. You can make her feel like she's not alone. You could figure something." Ron said. "It's better than nothing. You're just being lazy!"

"Who are you to lecture me? You and Anna are just a couple of cross dressers who are pretending to something you're not."

Ron staggered back, anger on his face. "You piece of shit. Fine, rot here for all I care."

Ron stormed off, and Erik felt bad for what he said. But he said it to make Ron go away and stay away. Ron and Anna both identified with a gender that didn't correspond with the ones assigned at birth. Erik never minded, but Ron couldn't pass as male until after his father died two years ago and he inherited the tavern. Erik ran a hand over his hair, breathing heavily. It just hit him what Ron had told him. Moreen was pregnant. With his child.

He didn't know what to do.

()

"What is your plan?" Anna asked.

"I don't have one." Moreen admitted. "I don't even know if I'll be around to make a plan."

"What?" Anna cocked her head.

"I remember why my husband and I never had children. Because I might bleed out in child birth."

"Oh." Anna murmured. "Does Erik know?"

"I haven't told anyone." Moreen admitted. "I don't know what to do."

"Do you have some of your memory back?" Anna asked, trying to steer clear of Moreen's mortality.

"Yeah. I got hit in the head again and it all came back."

"So who were you, before?"

"I was a maid. I came here from Africa where I worked for this family. I met Gabriel and we got married. Everything was really boring, honestly. I mean, I was happy then, but now, after everything I've been through, it just seems so simple."

Moreen pushed her hair behind her ear as she sat at the bar.

"I'm just so confused. I don't know what to do or where to go, I just... I'm sorry. I really don't want to impose on you two..." She trailed off.

"It's okay." Anna said. Ron appeared from the back, avoiding Moreen's eyes. Something he'd been doing for the past month.

Moreen pressed a hand to her head, sliding off the stool.

"I'm going to go to bed." Moreen murmured. She headed upstairs and opened the door to her room. It was dark, but she could tell something was amiss.

"Moreen," said a soft voice from the corner. Moreen almost screamed, backing against the bedroom door. Erik lit a lamp and took a deep breath when he saw her condition.

"So it's true?" He murmured, eyes welling up with tears. "You're... God Moreen."

She had been so lonely the past six months, she didn't know what to do other than embrace him. He held her tight, as though he were afraid she'd leave again if he let her go. He kissed her, lifting her up off the ground slightly.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too." Moreen admitted, holding tight to the front of his cloak. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Erik said. "Nadir was right. I should have told you about the past. But... I swear to you, I'm a different man. I'm the man you know me to be."

She nodded, gripping him. "I suppose you know now but... You're going to be a father."

"I..." Erik breathed. "I can see that. I can't believe it." He kneeled down, holding her abdomen in his hands. "I'm sorry, little one. Sorry I wasn't here." He pressed his lips against her belly gently before standing up.

"You're here now." Moreen murmured. "W...what are we going to do? Where are we going to go?"

"I don't know. Erik admitted. "I don't have anything to offer you. Nothing but my love." He swallowed. "But if we go back to Paris, I can get us something."

"How?" Moreen asked.

"I... No lies." He took a breath. "Back when I was... The opera ghost, I received a monthly salary. It was quite a bit of money, and I had no use for it most of the time, so I stored it. I left it there because it was blood money. But now there are more important things than my pride." He twisted his mouth. "We can earn money the noble way after the baby's born. But right now I want to make sure he or she is born in a safe place."

She opened her mouth to protest then closed it. She felt a little sick.

"Thank you for being honest." She murmured. "That's all I can ask for."

"I can go back to Paris, then come back-"

"No!" Moreen said, gripping his arm. "Don't leave me alone again. I'll come too."

"Moreen, you look close to full term, I don't want you to travel." Erik furrowed his brow.

"I'll be okay." She insisted.

Erik smiled slightly. "Okay."


	29. Chapter 29

"So this is where you lived?" Moreen said, looking around the stone walls of the cave.

"For a time, yes." Erik admitted.

Moreen trailed her fingers over the keys of the organ, tempted to press the keys, but resisted. Erik moved the curtain aside on a broken mirror, looking down a long tunnel behind, he eyes turning blank.

"Erik?" Moreen asked. Erik jerked.

"Sorry." He grabbed a monkey box that was sitting on the ground, opening the bottom of it and shaking a key out of it. "Found it." Behind one of the other mirrors in the room, there was a niche in the wall where a key fit. The wall swung open and Erik grabbed the box with the money inside. His fingers traced the patterns of the box - a relic of his time in Persia - remembering when this had been given to him.

"Erik!"

Erik spun and saw Moreen holding her middle in pain, her face scared.

"What's wrong?" He demanded, going to her and grabbing her arms.

"I think I've gone into labor." She said, eyes watering. "Oh god, Erik,"

He was trying not to panic. What the hell did he know about delivering babies? His panic was heightened when she yelled in pain, gripping him tightly. His son or daughter was ready to be born and he didn't know what to do. He lifted her into his arms easily and cared her over to the dusty swan shaped bed behind a handful of curtains. He laid her down gently, kissing her head softly.

"I'll be back, _mon cur_." He said.

"Where are you going?" Moreen demanded.

"To get help. Hopefully." Erik said. "I will be as fast as I can, I swear."

()

Erik stood in the rain as he waited for a response from the house he had just disturbed. A light came on in a window and he grew hopeful. An old woman came to the door, wearing all black, with graying black hair flowing around her shoulders.

"What- Erik?!" Madam Giry clutched her chest with a hand. "Jesus Christ, what in God's name are you doing here?"

"I know I have no right to ask it, but I need your help."

"If you want me to keep you here, I can't help you." She said stubbornly.

"It's not for me." Erik insisted. "Moreen, my... My wife," he didn't know what else to say, "She's gone into labor and I don't know what to do."

Madam Giry's eyes went wide. "Your... Then go get a doctor. I'm trying to sleep."

"You know I can't do that." Erik said, eyes pleading. "Giry, she's at the opera house. I don't know what else to do, who I can turn to."

"That's what happens when you burn all your bridges." She snapped. Her face softened. "I... I'll help you." She grabbed a cloak. "Lead the way."

()

Erik and Giry were soaked when they returned to the opera house, dripping water in the already damp corridors of the catacombs.

"How did you meet this girl?" Giry asked.

"Well, truth be told, she was an outlaw like me. She was blamed for the death of her husband. But thanks to the Daroga, he cleared her." Erik chuckled.

"Does she know? About the Opera Ghost?" Girl prodded.

"Yes."

"And she stayed?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Giry nodded. They entered the cave and Erik went to Moreen's side. Her face was shiny with sweat, her black eyes panicked.

"Hello, dear. I'm Madam Giry." She said softly.

"Moreen." Moreen muttered, gripping Erik's hand when he offered it to her.

"It's going to be okay," Erik said, running a hand over her hair.


	30. Chapter 30

Erik stared blankly into his son's face, the small child wrapped in a dusty blanket he had found. He slept soundly against Erik's chest, breathing softly. He was perfect. He was healthy. But at what cost?

Erik looked up as Madam Giry approached him, her face pale, trying to wipe the blood from her hands.

"I'm sorry, Erik. There wasn't anything I could do."

"I know." Erik couldn't bring himself to tears. He just felt empty.

"What are you going to do with the child?" She asked softly.

"I don't know."

She sighed, sitting beside him on the stone. "I'm so sorry. Does she have any family?"

"I'm all she has. She left her family in Africa so she could earn money here." Erik turned to her. "Giry... I don't know what to do."

"You have to do what's best for him. That's part of being a parent." Giry explained. "I'll... I'll take care of Moreen. You just think about what you're going to do with him."

Erik looked down at his face. It was perfect in every way, no sign of a blemish. His skin was light brown, a mixture of his two parents, his eyes dark brown.

"I'm not cut out for this. I don't have anything to offer you, little one." He whispered. "I am nothing."

()

Rain poured from the sky, soaking the fabric of Erik's cloak, causing him to clutch the precious bundle he carried closer to his chest. He looked down at the sleeping child and wondered if he was doing the right thing. He looked up at the tavern with doubt in his heart. He couldn't give away his own son, could he? Would he be any better than his own mother? He reminded himself that a loving family was better than a gypsy fair. He wondered if Anna and Ron would even take him. He knew they both wanted children. But considering their situation it would be difficult for them, to have by birth or adopt. He hoped with all of his heart they would be able to take him. He entered the tavern, shaking slightly. Ron looked up and saw him. His face was wary, but he wasn't hostile.

"You can't come running to us anymore." Ron said. "You had your chance."

"I know." Erik said. "I'm sorry for what I said. You know I don't believe that."

Ron twisted his mouth. "What do you want?"

"I..." Erik lifted his cloak and Ron's eyes went wide.

"Moreen had her baby." He said.

Erik nodded. "I... She's dead Ron. Died in childbirth."

Ron blinked, eyes misting. "Oh god... Erik I'm sorry."

"I can't take care of him, Ron." Erik said. "I know you and Anna want children."

Ron looked close to tears. "Erik, what are you saying?"

"I want you to have him. You both would give him a home I never can." Erik's voice shook. "If not you, then an orphanage, and I don't want to do that. Especially because of his skin." The child had light brown skin and his mother's features, and could be an easy target for bigger kids at an orphanage.

"Are you sure?"

Erik handed Ron the child, and he lifted him tenderly in his arms.

"I'm very sure. I want him to have a normal life."

"Well, normal as it can be, considering who his parents will be." Ron laughed. "Oh my god."

"And take this." Erik handed over the box he had taken from the cellar back at the opera. Ron lifted the lid with a hand and his eyes went wide.

"There has to be thousands of pounds here." He said in disbelief. "I can't take this."

"Please keep it. Use it for him." Erik insisted. "It was about 120,000 francs. I got it exchanged on my way into the country."

"I don't know what to say."

"Just keep it. Take care of him." Erik sighed. "Please."

Tears poured over in Ron's eyes. "Thank you."

Erik nodded and was about to leave when Erik called him back.

"What's his name?"

Erik paused. "Moreen wanted to name him Andrew."

And he was gone.

()

Ron headed upstairs slowly, Andrew sleeping in his arms soundly.

"Anna?" He called. Anna stuck her head out of the bedroom.

"Yeah, luv? What's that?" She stepped out and her eyes went wide at the sight of the child.

"Our son." Ron murmured. She cocked her head, confused. She took Andrew from Ron, bouncing him a little.

"He looks like Moreen." She said.

"She died. Erik brought him here. He said that we could give him a better life."

"What's his name?" She ran a finger down his cheek.

"Andrew."

"He also gave us some money to help us with him."

"You didn't take his money did you?"

"He wouldn't hear of it." Ron shrugged. "I promised him we'd use it for Andrew."

She looked up at Ron. "Are we really parents?"

"Yeah." Ron kissed her. "We are."

-The End


End file.
